


Controlled Chaos

by Faith in the Fallen (Iturbide)



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Strategy & Tactics, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Faith%20in%20the%20Fallen
Summary: When a battle with Múspell leads to the Summoner's capture, the Order of Heroes begins to collapse into disarray.  With their leaders hesitant to act and Kiran's fate uncertain, an unlikely Hero steps up to lead the rescue operation: the Wings of Despair himself...





	Controlled Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> I actually hadn't expected that I'd end up writing Heroes fic! As much as I love Heroes (and I love it _a lot,_ let's be honest), I'd mostly been amassing headcanons based on how I play...until Grima was released in the game. I managed to roll him on the day he released and after logging every piece of dialogue he has...I wound up writing character analysis on [Tumblr](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/171252409296/well-now-that-ive-successfully-logged-every), which spiraled rapidly out of control into a lot of drabble and headcanon posts. 
> 
> And then someone sent me an absolutely amazing prompt: 
> 
> "What if something super bad happened? Like the summoner somehow got captured by maybe Muspell (Surtr)? How would Grima (and the whole castle by proxy) react?"
> 
> It pretty much set my brain on fire and I wrote an 18 page fic in response. 
> 
> Now that I seem to be making a habit of writing Heroes one-shots, though, I figure I might as well put them here on AO3 for the sake of archiving. As always for my work, dashes (-) represent a change of scene while stars (*) represent a change of perspective. If this is your first time coming across this, I hope you enjoy...and if you've read this before, I hope you enjoy it again!

Kiran was fairly certain by now that combat would never become familiar. Nothing in their prior life could have prepared them for this, and even with as many fights as they’d seen (and between the conflict with first Embla, now Múspell, and all of the battles waged for practice in the Training Tower or sport in the Arena, they had seen a _lot_ ), it never really felt natural or right, sending soldiers -- friends -- onto the field to fight and bleed and sometimes fall for the Askran cause. 

Perhaps it was good that war did not sit well with them. But regardless of their feelings, they had a job to do here, and they intended to do it well. Anything to keep Askr from becoming a mirror of Nifl’s scorched wasteland: the further they traveled, the more wreckage they encountered, empty towns covered in snow that could not hide the burned remains of what had once been thriving communities.

As they continued their trek toward Nifl’s former capital, the Askran forces had run afoul of Múspell soldiers camped in one of the ruined villages. Tagging Ike, they glanced briefly at his health, winced, and instead sent Lissa to heal him before ordering the young mercenary into a green mage’s line of fire. Robin moved to intercept a mounted archer encroaching on their flank, sending a conspiracy of magic ravens tearing through the bowman’s defenses, while overhead a six-winged dragon banked slowly over the battle, awaiting his next command.

“We might need to retreat,” Kiran muttered as enemy reinforcements appeared upfield, well beyond their line of sight but easily tracked by the tactical map piped into their phone. The axe fighter and the red manakete wouldn’t be so bad, with Alphonse and Sharena to intercept them, but the cavalier with the firesweep lance was another matter…

“The situation hardly seems so dire.”

The Summoner looked up at the hooded figure leaning over their shoulder, a wry smile twitching across their face. “When did you take over as the Order’s tactician?” 

Grima rolled his eyes, keeping easy pace with Kiran as they picked their way through the remnants of the village square. Several of the houses beyond remained more or less intact: the narrow streets would afford them a good choke point to deal with additional reinforcements, provided they could keep their ranks in order. Humming thoughtfully to themselves as they climbed the steps of an abandoned home, the Summoner drew the Askran fighters one by one across the on-screen grid, casting a quick glance back the way they’d come to see faintly glowing marks on the ground leading into the plaza. They still had no idea what Breidablik had done to their phone, but it had certainly been effective.

“Incoming,” Kiran noted, listening to the approaching hoofbeats. “You ready?”

The fell dragon grinned, violet flames licking at his boots. “Always,” he chuckled. Though they both knew it wasn’t necessary, the Summoner still moved Grima’s icon down the street as he advanced, the great six-winged form overhead descending to attack. More reinforcements had appeared around the square, and Kiran bit their lip as they sized up the new opposition, attempting to suss out the least risky solution to their predicament. Tapping a few troops experimentally, the Summoner gauged their chances...and, satisfied that they could pull off a defensive ploy, moved their allies one by one to engage the newly summoned soldiers, grinning as the blinding glow from Alphonse’s Sol momentarily brightened the overcast afternoon. Grima’s dragon form screeched as an axe fighter filled the position occupied by the now fallen cavalryman, and Kiran glanced briefly at the screen...only to chuckle at the damage predictor’s single-digit output. Even with two hits, there was no chance they could take down the Wings of Despair. Maybe they had been too hasty, considering retreat--

“Hello, Summoner.”

Kiran froze. 

They hadn’t heard movement in the building behind them. Hadn’t even considered that someone might be in there waiting -- which was foolish, given the hard lesson they’d learned combatting the Black Knight not so long ago. But they slowly raised their hands in the universal gesture of peaceful submission, taking great care not to disturb the blade pressed to their neck. 

“Hello,” the Summoner replied, grateful that their voice did not quake the way the rest of them did. “It’s Laegjarn, right?”

“I’m flattered that you recall my name,” the general chuckled. “Perhaps you also recall my offer.”

“Surrender quietly and you won’t hurt me?”

“Your memory serves you well. What say you?”

Kiran swallowed, feeling the sword’s edge burn their throat. With the fight still raging out of sight in the plaza and Grima’s attention focused on the wyvern rider flying into range, no one had seen the enemy under their noses. No help was coming.

Some tactician they turned out to be.

“I submit.”

“Very good. Please disarm, Summoner.”

The blade at their throat relaxed an inch. Nodding slightly, Kiran removed Breidablik from its place on their hip, kneeling to lay it on the stoop alongside their phone…

...and as they lingered, casting one last pleading look toward the fell dragon, they cranked the volume up to the max. The music barely even reached their own ears over the pounding of their heart, and the general made no remark on it as the Summoner straightened. 

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” Laegjarn remarked, taking hold of Kiran’s arm and pulling them into the shadows of the scorched house. The back half had collapsed, blackened beams jutting from the ash; the Múspell general paid the wreckage no mind as she guided the Summoner out onto the next road and past a fresh wave of soldiers. “Retreat,” she ordered. “We have what we came for.”

The troops pulled back from the village with shocking speed. The Askran forces remained, perhaps confused by the swift turn of the tides, perhaps elated at their victory. Kiran did not know. They could only wonder what the Heroes would feel when they realized what they’d lost.

***

Grima frowned as the Múspell soldiers withdrew. “Barely a challenge,” he snorted.

_Something’s strange._

“I’m inclined to agree, given how fierce these forces are said to be--”

_We were outnumbered. There were still reinforcements coming in. Why did they retreat?_

He glanced up at the dragon floating lazily overhead.

_A wyvern rider tried to stab you in the face. I don’t think the dragon really made much of an impression._

A grin twitched across Grima’s face as he moved back down the icy road. Kiran had left the doorstep; turning into the square, the fell dragon joined the other Heroes that had gathered, submitting without complaint to the fair-haired cleric’s treatment.

“I was worried for a moment there,” the Askran princess giggled. “There were so many of them!”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Ike muttered, the words clearly at odds with the wounds the healer had yet to mend.

“What troubles me is how quickly the tides turned,” Alphonse said. “Our enemy has shown fearsome skill at predicting our course of action and heading us off...they may seek to lure us into a trap.”

“Where’s Kiran?” Anna asked. “Perhaps they’ll have some insight…”

All eyes turned to Grima.

A sense of disquieting unease crawled down his spine. “I did not see them when the battle ended. I thought they had joined you here.”

But scanning the worried Heroes that turned to look amongst each other, he found no trace of the Summoner. 

“They can’t be far...right?” Lissa asked, wringing her staff between her hands.

“Let’s look for them. Perhaps they were sidetracked investigating something,” Robin suggested, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his otherwise calm logic.

The fell dragon retraced his steps as the other members of the Order fanned out through the square, calling for the Summoner to reveal themselves. Approaching the doorstep where he had left them, Grima narrowed his eyes at the open doorway leading into the wreckage. Had it been ajar before? If Kiran intended this to be some prank--

_That isn’t like them._

As he drew close, an odd sound snared Grima’s attention: a muffled, melodic hum from somewhere nearby. Tilting his head, he peered up and down the street, toward the scorched eaves, down to the snowy ground…

_Oh, gods._

The fell dragon crouched, lifting the Summoner’s magic tile off the step. Free of the ice, the song it sang grew louder, a tense battle hymn that set his nerves on edge. “Kiran,” he called, taking to his feet and striding through the doorway, out through the collapsed rear wall, and across the packed snow left by the enemy’s retreat. 

No response.

_They won’t hear you._

“Kiran!” Grima snarled, loud enough to echo through the wreckage, distorting beyond recognition.

_They can’t hear you._

_“KIRAN!!”_

The dragon overhead shrieked in unison with him, sending scores of dark birds rushing from the forests on every side. But as the ringing in his ears at last abated, nothing more than silence greeted him.

_They’re gone._

\-----

The Order had searched. They had scoured the woods until the last light left the sky, following the tracks left by the Múspell soldiers in hopes of finding the place where they converged; but even with six eyes overhead peering through the dark, they found no clues to spur their progress. 

Nightfall forced their hand. With few options and grave uncertainties of what lay ahead, the Order’s commander called for a retreat back to Askr to resupply and assess the situation. And as little as Grima liked it, he had nothing better to offer. 

“We should gather reinforcements,” the Askran prince insisted as they strode through the luminous gateway into the plaza. “The Múspell forces couldn’t have traveled far. If we set off at dawn we may be able to catch up with them--”

“It’s too risky,” the commander replied. “We don’t know how many soldiers they have. Even if we were to take the whole of the Order, we’ve no guarantee of victory -- and that could be exactly what they want, leaving Askr’s defenses weak for Surtr’s invasion force. Until we know more, we should wait and prepare.”

“You would abandon them.”

The words echoed through the plaza, leaving silence in their wake. Grima stalked forward, rage fueling the violet tongues of flame that swirled around him; only the warning from the presence in the back of his mind kept him from lifting the red-headed general off the ground by the front of her tunic. The Askrans still retreated, warily touching their weapons as the fell dragon stared down at them. 

“We’re not abandoning anyone,” Anna insisted, the tremor in her voice undercutting her patient tone. “Rushing in will only put everyone at risk.”

“Múspell’s general is a formidable strategist, but has treated the people of Nifl fairly even after its fall,” Fjorm offered. “If she has taken the Summoner, we can be assured of their safety until terms are delivered--”

“And if Surtr is responsible then they may be dead already,” Grima snarled.

“...we can’t afford to risk the Order, or the Summoner’s life, by rushing in ill prepared,” the commander repeated. “We will make ready, and when we receive word--”

The fell dragon bared his fangs, feeling the pull of the great form atop the castle and wanting nothing more than to bring the walls crumbling down on the Askrans’ miserable heads…

_That won’t help Kiran._

He hated that voice. All the more for the fact that he knew that it spoke true. 

Clenching his fists, Grima stormed from the plaza, winding his way through the halls and up to the castle roof where his other form roosted. The dragon made a small noise of distress, six eyes fixed on the distant horizon while Grima settled against the parapets and struggled to fight down the rage burning its way through him. “Miserable wretched cowardly _worms,_ every _one_ of them--”

_They have some sound points._

“They’re leaving Kiran to _die,_ how is that a _sound point?”_

_If Surtr had been involved, we would have known it. He likes to gloat too much. He wouldn’t have retreated with Kiran, he would have made it known immediately what he’d done. Odds are good that it is the general who’s responsible, then, and that gives us time to prepare._

“Prepare for what? Do you really imagine their terms will be anything beyond ‘surrender or we slaughter the Summoner?’”

_...unconditional surrender or providing Gunnthrá’s location would be my guess._

Grima sneered, pressing his fists to his forehead. “How reassuring.”

_What else can we do, though?_

“How should I know? As I recall, _you_ were the genius tactician.”

The presence at the back of his mind had no response for that. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, the fell dragon reached into the pocket of his coat, removing the Summoner’s magic tile. The divine weapon they’d left behind had been turned over to the commander’s care...but Grima had kept the Summoner’s fohn. The surface had gone dark, the eerie music silent now as he held the device in his palm...but as he prodded it experimentally, the screen flashed to light, a series of tiny white dots speckling the lower half of its surface. 

He had watched Kiran toy with this blasted thing often enough. Touching the screen, he drew his finger through several of the spots...and with a soft click, the tile’s surface rippled and changed, a faint red cast overtaking the screen. Touching it lightly sent sparks dancing under his fingers...before a map of the Askran kingdom appeared, glowing stones marked with ornate banners scattered across the continent. The Summoner had shown him this once before...tapping one the seals arranged along the bottom of the tile, he frowned at the banners filing down before his eyes. Skills, seals, growth...tapping another made the surface shimmer into a list of even less helpful banners: dueling swords, stamina restoration, barracks expansion…

_What are you looking for?_

“There must be some way to help them,” the fell dragon muttered. “If this so-called ‘Order of Heroes’ is as grand as the Askrans claim, there must be something…”

_Like what?_

“If I knew that, would I be searching?” Grima growled, squinting in the tile’s light and touching another symbol, only to find himself back on the map of the kingdom. “Wretched thing…” 

_Try the last one. On the right._

“I didn’t ask you,” Grima snarled. 

_...I want them back, too, you know. But I don’t have a body anymore. I can only help if you’ll let me._

Silence settled over the rooftop, broken only by the whisper of the breeze rustling the Askran flags flying high over the towers. And finally, without ire or protest, the fell dragon touched the furthest symbol, scanning the list of banners that scrolled before his eyes. 

_There. Catalog of Heroes._

Grima touched the words, watching the screen shimmer and change, displaying tiny portraits of the Heroes assembled within the Askran palace. Dragging his fingertip along the edge sent the tiles trailing out of sight, replaced by new ones. Some were familiar: Naga’s young daughter, the Hoshidan archer prince, the Ylissean tacticians...others much less so. 

_Touch one._

He did without argument. The surface briefly darkened before an image appeared of a fair-haired man in red, a quiver of arrows secured at his side; a scroll emblazoned with a name and epithet hovered over a brief biography…

_A strategist._

“How many do you think there are?” Grima asked quietly, touching the scrollwork arrows and browsing through the other Heroes. 

_If we’re lucky? Enough._

The dragon felt a smile tug at his lips, exposing pale fangs to the moonlight. “Then tell me, tactician: what will we need?”

\-----

It came as no surprise when the Askran troops made no move. One day passed. Then another. A pall of silence hung over the castle; the Heroes carried on their conversations in hushed voices and terse words, half their attention seeming forever fixed on the gates leading to the lands beyond Askr in hopes that some message would arrive from beyond their borders. 

None came. 

And for that, Grima was grateful. It would have been far more difficult to lay plans with the Order scrambling to meet Múspell’s demands. 

Nightfall cleared the plaza. None of the Heroes seemed interested in idle chatter when one of their own was missing. And it made the task of locating them far easier as he stalked through the quiet barracks, glancing from door to door and knocking one by one on the rooms he and the tactician had so carefully chosen. 

Responses were, as expected, mixed. Soren had no interest in helping Grima, with his loyalties so firmly tied to the young mercenary swordsman; Ike, however, needed no encouragement at all to join when he heard the proposal, and in his wake the strategist grudgingly followed. The Ylissean tacticians, meanwhile, were far more open to hearing the fell dragon out, though the rest of their exalted families harbored grave misgivings (and Grima felt a pang from the presence in his mind when Lucina touched her sword). 

They assembled in the castle’s grand council chamber, taking their seats at the round table and looking among their number: four Ylissean tacticians in various states of dress and festive attire, one fair-haired Archanean archer, a stoic swordsman and his branded mage companion, an Ostian spy with a sly smile and sharp eyes, and one Ylissean thief contemplating the gathering over a lollipop. 

“You said this is about Kiran,” Ike said, breaking the uncomfortable silence at last. 

“I did,” the fell dragon agreed. “And it is.”

“Have you seen something?” Grima's counterpart ventured, glancing up at the ceiling as though searching for the six-winged form roosting far above.

“No,” the dragon replied. “Which is why I asked you here.”

“...’fraid I don’t follow,” Gaius muttered. 

_Yes he does. He just wants to hear you say it._

“How ‘bout you spell it out for us?” the thief continued, leaning far enough back in his chair to nearly upend it. 

A smile carved its way across Grima’s face. “Why are we all here in this place, fighting this war?”

“We were summoned,” Jeorge replied. “By Kiran, and that strange weapon they hold.”

“I’m still not sure if we’re bound by contract or not,” Robin said, twisting a lock of long white hair around her finger. “We can’t go home unless we’re sent back, but…”

“I don’t...exactly feel obligated to help here,” her twin agreed, adjusting the coat over her bare shoulders. “Not like some of the Heroes we’ve encountered in Veronica’s ranks.”

“Why is that?” the fell dragon asked. “Why do you remain here, why do you commit yourself to the Askran cause, if not for a contract?”

“I’m only here because Ike is,” Soren grumbled. 

The swordsman paid him no mind, meeting Grima’s eye steadily. “Kiran.”

“Kiran,” the fell dragon repeated, beginning to pace the length of the room. “The Summoner. The one who brought us together, who’s honed our skills, who’s afforded us every chance to better ourselves. Who’s listened to us, and tried to help us find our places in this strange world. Who’s seen us through countless battles and allowed us to be the Heroes we’ve been branded, regardless of our worth.”

_You’re waxing poetic._

Kiran brought out a strange side of him. Turning to the assembled Heroes, he leaned his weight against the table. “Who’s now lost behind enemy lines, who’s been abandoned by the leaders of this Order, and who may be in danger.”

“You heard Anna,” the festive tactician noted uncomfortably, folding his mittened hands a few times. “There’s too much of a risk, both to ourselves and to Kiran, to charge back in when we don’t know the full situation.”

A smile tugged at Grima’s lips, exposing the tips of his fangs. “Then perhaps it would behoove us to rectify that.”

“...alright. I’ll bite. How?” Matthew asked, his smile twitching as he fought to keep it in place. 

“A covert operation.”

All eyes turned to Grima’s doppelganger. He folded his hands on the table, meeting the fell dragon’s eye steadily. “That’s what you’d propose. Isn’t it?”

“No wonder you need spies and strategists,” the woman seated beside him remarked. “The first to slip into the Múspell camp, assess their forces and potential weak points; the other to take that and devise the plan to strike, extract Kiran, and retreat.”

“I’d expect nothing less from Ylisse’s illustrious tacticians,” the fell dragon murmured, inclining his head in agreement. 

“Why, though?” Gaius asked, propping his boots on the edge of the table. “What’s in it for you?”

The assembled Heroes turned their attention back to Grima. He met their stares without flinching, standing tall beside his seat. “You imagine I have selfish motivations. And you are not mistaken. Were it another, I would have no qualms about leaving them, whether they were royalty or the Order’s commander. But this is Kiran. They are a weak, wretched, pathetic excuse for a human, unable even to defend themselves in a fight. I want them returned. Nothing more.”

“...I would like to see the Summoner returned safely, myself,” Jeorge remarked, resting his chin on his hands as the other Heroes nodded in agreement. “So, then. Where do we begin?”

\-----

The council lasted well into the darkest hours of the night. But their plans came together, bit by bit, until at last they parted ways to rest and prepare for the opportune moment. Slipping through the plaza, Grima made his way toward the soft glow of the gates that led beyond the Askran kingdom. If conditions were in their favor, they might be able to set things in motion with the next nightfall--

“Where is Kiran?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Hoshido’s archer prince as he emerged from the shadows of the pillars. “Not here,” the fell dragon replied brusquely. 

“Where?” His voice sounded hoarse. Narrowing his eyes, Grima watched the noxious violet fog swirl and eddy around the young man. The possessed one, then.

_The volatile one._

“I haven’t seen them since the battle,” the fell dragon said.

“I need to find them,” Takumi insisted. “Where are they?”

“I could not say. But they are not here. Look elsewhere.”

“I’ve looked. Everywhere. Nowhere else to go. I need to find them.”

“...why?” Grima asked.

“It won’t go away.”

The archer pressed a hand to his face, fingers curling into an unsteady fist. “I try. I try to block it out, but...the voice keeps telling me...to kill them, all of them, and I can’t make it stop, I need Kiran to make it stop, I _need_ them, where are they…?”

“Gone.”

Takumi looked up, his expression an unsettling mask of distress and rage. “Where?”

“Captured.”

_Are you sure you should be telling him that?_

“By who?” the archer growled.

“Múspell,” Grima replied.

“Get them back.”

“The Order intends to do nothing,” the fell dragon sneered. “They will sit on their hands and wait for Surtr’s demands. Or for him to put Kiran’s charred corpse on display. Whichever comes first, I suppose.”

The mist around the prince seethed and roiled, and a thin smile cut across Grima’s face as he watched the bow at Takumi’s side begin to tremble.

_You’re doing it on purpose._

“I will go.”

“The Order won’t allow it,” the fell dragon remarked.

“I don’t care. I’ll go. I’ll kill them all for Kiran, I’ll get them back, I’ll…”

“You want Kiran back so badly?” Grima murmured, knowing the answer even before he asked. Takumi nodded, offering no more than a low, guttural noise of assent. “Then collect yourself.”

_The singer might be able to help. Azura? Kiran called her in to help before, I think…_

The fell dragon gestured for Takumi to follow, making his way back into the halls. Considering their purpose, a performer could prove advantageous, though a songstress ran the risk of betraying their position…

_But if you plan to use him, you need a way to keep him together. Besides, a singer doesn’t need room to perform the way a dancer does. Reach out to the one in blue, she’ll have a better chance of blending into the dark._

The fell dragon grinned. Perhaps it truly had been a stroke of luck that he’d been bound to a tactician’s body. 

_You can thank me any time._

...he might consider it if they succeeded. 

***

Laegjarn had been true to her word: following the retreat from the village, the Múspell general had personally escorted the Summoner through the march to the edge of the forest before placing them -- under heavy guard, of course -- in a private tent near the heart of the camp. While Kiran was grateful for that, it didn’t stop anxiety from gnawing a hole through their gut, leaving them queasy and sleepless through the next few days and nights. 

It didn’t help that Surtr was on his way. Laegjarn hadn’t said anything about it, but the Summoner had heard her call for a messenger shortly after they made camp. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what missive she was going to send. 

Aside from the unbearable waiting, though, it wasn’t as bad as Kiran might have expected. No one bothered them, the general was conscious of their needs, and the conditions were more than fair given their prisoner status. 

The Summoner wondered, often, as their nerves twisted their stomach into knots, what would end up happening to them. Laegjarn had vowed that no harm would befall them, but with Surtr on the way, that seemed like a hard promise to keep. Would she be able to convince her father to discuss nonviolent terms? Would the flame king overrule his general and act on whatever vicious whims ruled him? Would…

...would the Order somehow find a way to save them?

Impossible as it seemed, that was the thought that gave them the most heart. Heroes swooping in to the rescue, defeating the Múspell soldiers…

A flurry of activity on the third night made their heart seize up. Kiran heard Laegjarn calmly directing the soldiers as she strode past the Summoner’s tent...and as she passed, someone entered: not the eldest princess of Múspell, but her sister, her face an expressionless mask and her eyes far colder than her heritage would have implied. 

“Is something going on?” Kiran asked, feigning calm. 

“You will come with me,” Laevatein ordered. 

The Summoner heard no room for argument. And they weren’t exactly in a position to protest, either. Rising to their feet, Kiran approached the young general, submitting without protest as she took hold of their arm and led them out of the tent. 

The frantic bustle of activity set their nerves on edge as they moved toward the lanterns lighting the front of the camp. “Your sister seems pretty great,” they noted quietly, watching soldiers scrambling through the lines of tents. Kiran swore they saw the ghost of a smile cross Laevatein’s face at that, though she made no reply. “I’d like to thank her, if I could. Sometime. Y’know. I really appreciate everything she’s done...”

Anything else they might have wanted to say died on their tongue as they approached the edge of camp. The lights they had seen were not lanterns at all: they were naked flames, writhing in the air and nearly choking the Summoner with their heat alone. And at their heart stood the Ruler of Flame himself, his dark eyes staring down at them through the rippling haze. 

“I present the Askran Summoner,” Laegjarn said, gesturing to Kiran as Laevatein released their arm. 

A wicked sneer sliced across Surtr’s face, and any breath the Summoner might have salvaged to speak abandoned them. “Pathetic,” he chuckled, a sound so low it seemed to shake the ground. “This wretched thing is what’s given them such nerve? They look like they would lose to a mere ember.”

Kiran had to admit that they probably would. But the words would not come out, even if they’d wanted to speak. 

The man’s smile grew, exposing teeth and gums alike. “I wonder how well they will burn.”

He raised a hand, and the Summoner stared at the flames licking his fingers, sparking across his nails and crackling in his palm. They could not speak. They could not move. Try as they might, all they could do was watch in growing horror as his hand stretched toward them, the heat baking their skin and singeing the edges of their hood and oh gods this was how they would die, they would burn to death here and they couldn’t even cry as they stood rooted in terror beneath the burning gaze of Múspell’s king--

A hand closed on their arm, pulling them back a step. 

Kiran stumbled, gasping into their sleeve as Laegjarn placed herself between the Summoner and her father. “I gave my oath that no harm would befall them,” she said, her voice perfectly composed. “The Summoner is a valuable bargaining chip. We can deliver terms of surrender to Askr in exchange for their safe return and end this war tomorrow, but only if we have the Summoner to offer--”

“You should not have made such a hasty oath,” Surtr growled. “Stand aside, or the flames may feast twice this night.”

Kiran’s knees threatened to give way beneath them as Múspell’s king brushed his daughter aside, leaving her armor scorched from even so light a touch. Another step and he loomed over them, the flames making him seem still larger as they flared around him, and the Summoner could not be sure whether it was the haze of heat around him or the adrenaline coursing through them that made his silhouette waver and blur--

And in a flash, chaos erupted all around them. 

Horses shrieked and bolted with glowing green wolves snapping at their hooves, blue-black ravens descended on the archers reaching for their bows, and wyvern riders taking to the skies fell to a hail of arrows. Kiran scrambled blindly out of the way of the scattering soldiers--

Someone gripped on their arm. The Summoner yelped, whirling in a panic…

“Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Their breath caught.

“...Grima!?”

***

The weather held throughout the day and after the fall of night. Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars from sight as the band of Heroes made their way through the dark: two mages, two dagger wielders, two archers, a swordsman, and a songstress with an ornate axe. Not a brigade for sustained combat, but they had all agreed it would suffice for a strategic strike. 

They found the Múspell camp with little difficulty. Gaius and Matthew slipped from the cover of the trees, darting across the icy ground to the pillars of ice that sheltered the enemy tents. They would need time to assess the situation and return to brief the rest of the company…

A sound overhead drew his attention. Glancing up at the heavy clouds, Grima narrowed his eyes at the winged silhouette moving against the sky. He scanned their small force, catching Takumi’s eye and gesturing up to the enemy on patrol; the archer followed his gaze, raising his bow and taking careful aim before loosing a bolt of black energy into the air. The fell dragon saw the wyvern jerk and list in its flight an instant before its wings crumpled…

A sharp hiss drew his attention back. He frowned, watching Takumi shudder while the aura pulsed and coiled around his neck. Nodding briefly to the dark-clad singer, he focused once more on encampment glowing against the blue-white ice while a soft song filled their ears. Even from this distance, he could see soldiers moving hastily through the lines of tents, seething and swarming like ants disturbed from their mound. Something was going on, that much was clear…

He heard, rather than saw, the return of the spies from their patrol, the faint crunch of pine needles and snow under soft boots betraying their presence. “We gotta move fast,” Gaius muttered as he slunk up to Grima’s side. “Bad news just walked in.”

The fell dragon growled low in his throat. That would explain the activity. “Then we had best make haste.”

He left the cover of the trees, hearing the others following his lead. They moved swiftly, dark shadows against the pale ice, taking shelter behind the stones that littered the plain. As they drew close, he saw Surtr speaking with one of the two Múspell generals, watched him brush the woman aside, his hand reaching for…

Kiran.

 _“Now,”_ he hissed. 

They did not hesitate. The tacticians leapt into action, their spells descending on the encampment and throwing its soldiers into disarray. Jeorge and Takumi took aim at the wyvern riders, arresting their attempted flight while Grima cleared the remaining distance, his attention fixed on the Summoner’s gilt robes amid the chaos. Taking hold of their arm--

Kiran whimpered, rounding on the fell dragon and raising their free hand to shield their face. He could feel them trembling beneath his touch. Typical. And yet, the fell dragon felt a smile curve across his lips, a soft rumble of laughter rising in his chest. “Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Kiran stilled, turning their face up to look at him. And in spite of himself, he could not hide his grin.

“...Grima!?”

“Who else would it be?” he asked, turning back the way he’d come. “Quickly, now--”

“Hold.”

The fell dragon stopped, moving the Summoner carefully behind him as Surtr towered over them. “Stand aside,” Grima commanded. Even at his full height, the fell dragon was forced to tilt his head up to look the Ruler of Flame in his scarred face. But he felt no fear, even as the man lifted his axe, tongues of fire licking the glowing blade.

Surtr sneered. “Or what? What can a puny thing like you do?”

Grima’s smile widened, exposing his fangs. “I will devour you,” he replied. He raised his hand, gesturing to Múspell’s king as the man uttered a booming, mirthless laugh…

The clouds above roiled and parted for the six-eyed dragon, its maw gaping wide as it descended toward the camp. Surtr paused, watching the dragon’s descent with a vaguely amused smirk. “Keep close,” Grima muttered, sheltering the Summoner with one outstretched arm as the dragon overhead breathed a cloud of violet smoke over the encampment…

“Foolish wretch -- you will learn the meaning of fear,” Surtr laughed. 

Sparks danced through the veil of haze. The king of Múspell raised his axe high, flames coalescing into a ball that rivaled the sun -- and as he swung his weapon, it soared high, striking the dragon squarely in the jaw. 

The fell beast shrieked in rage and agony, expelling another cloud of noxious fog across the enemy’s forces. He felt Kiran’s hand grip his sleeve, and without hesitation he retreated through the dark, away from the Múspell forces and onto the snowy wastes. He saw the others ahead, pulling back with equal speed, cutting swiftly across the ice and into the shelter of the trees beyond; with the songstress speeding them along their way, they continued without pause until the light and sound of the battlefield faded from a ringing in their ears to utter silence. 

And then, at last, their breathless troop stopped, collapsing beneath the shelter of the Nifl pines. Grima glanced across the battered force, an odd sense of relief settling over him as he found them all accounted for. They had done well. 

And moreover, they had succeeded. 

The fell dragon turned to the Summoner beside him, looking them over carefully as their breath at last grew steady. They appeared unharmed, if slightly singed… “Are you alright?” he asked. 

Kiran drew in a shaky breath. And when they looked up at him, their wide eyes were full of tears. 

Before he could speak, the Summoner flung themselves at him, pressing close and clutching his coat in their trembling hands. “He was gonna kill me,” they whimpered. “Gods...g- _gods,_ I could’ve died, he was gonna burn me alive, and I couldn’t d-do _anything --_ I froze up, I just _stood_ there, like s-some dumb...I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t even run away, I was gonna die th-there…”

Grima hesitantly coiled one arm across Kiran’s shoulders, the other awkwardly patting the peak of their hood. “What did you expect?” he asked quietly. “You do not fight. That is not your role.”

“I could’ve...a-at least run away, i-instead of dying like...like some c-coward,” the Summoner sniffled into his increasingly damp shirt.

“There is no cowardice in what you did,” the fell dragon murmured. “Brave words can mask a coward, but his actions will betray him. You showed great courage. You held firm in the face of fear. You faced a foe that makes even Heroes quake. You should take pride.”

“I’m no Hero,” Kiran mumbled. 

“No,” Grima agreed. “You are not. You are a Summoner. But what makes us Heroes is not our presence in Askr. It is not our histories, nor our titles, nor our lineages....it is _you. You_ are the one who makes us Heroes. Your belief in us. Your faith. You are not a Hero, Summoner...but we are not Heroes without you.”

_You’re waxing poetic again._

It seemed effective, though. Kiran’s sniffling abated, and they turned their gaze once more up to look at his face. “...do you really think so?” they whispered. 

“I think any here would agree,” he nodded. The Summoner drew back slightly, mustering up a shaky smile as they dried their eyes and turned to scan the assembled Heroes...

“Holy _shit,_ what happened to Takumi!?”

Kiran broke away, hurrying over to where the archer sat. His head came up, bloody lips curving into a relieved smile as the Summoner settled beside him. “You’re back,” he mumbled, the shifting aura around him beginning to disperse.

“Of course I am,” they chuckled. “You guys can’t get rid of me that easy. Don’t suppose a healer joined the party…?”

“No,” Grima confirmed, moving to stand beside them. “But Askr is only a brief warp away, and there are clerics enough there.” 

“We should probably get going, then,” they said, helping Takumi to his feet. Nodding in agreement, Grima turned--

Something tugged on his sleeve. Looking back, he found the Summoner’s hand on his arm, a familiar smile taking its place once more on their face. “Thanks, Grima,” they murmured. “For saving me. And...for everything else, too.”

The fell dragon inclined his head slightly, concealing his smile beneath his raised hood as he turned to join the tacticians in seeing to the preparations for their return. The commander would likely have harsh words for them all, but…he would bear them without complaint or apology. The risk had been well worth the reward. 


End file.
